A Pureblood Below Stairs
by my socks think it's tuesday
Summary: After the second wizarding war, Ginny has few options but to become a housemaid to a pureblood earl, armed with nothing but her Cleansweep and a very small owl. Harry is a hero and the earl of Grimmauld, and now he's falling for Ginny. To make matters worse, he's already engaged, and Ginny is just a servant... or so everyone believes. Hinny AU: A Countess Below Stairs
1. Prologue

AN: Despite the labelling, this story is actually a crossover with A Countess Below Stairs/The Secret Countess; not Magic Flutes. It is also more of an AU than a crossover as no characters from ACOS appear. Characters belong to JKR; Plot belongs to Eva Ibbotson; I just mashed the two together.

Also, a warning: those of you familiar with ACOS will know that certain characters are awful and thus the Harry Potter characters I have put in their place are similarly awful. Please know that I love and defend many characters that, in this fic, will be portrayed badly, so if you have a huge fondness for Pansy and Draco (among others), this is not the fic for you. If, however, you love fluff and Hinny (with side-orders of Romione and Neville), read on and enjoy!

* * *

Prologue

Between the two wizarding wars, the magical world was an incredible place. The first had been a long war, the start of which marked the magical world's inevitable withdrawal from muggle society to keep non-magical friends and family safe from the grasp of the Dark Lord. Despite the distance between the two groups which now governed society, the end of the war ushered in a new age of prosperity and advancing technology as bright minds turned their eyes to the future, tinkering with muggle contraptions — the motorcar, for example, and the telephone and the radio, which held innumerable possibilities — engineering new spells, mixing unheard-of potions, working hard to forget the tragedies of the war. It took just a few years for society to recover from the blows dealt by the Dark Lord and his armies (such as they had been). There had been losses, greater than anyone could have expected: the Potter line, which, after the war, was all but exterminated; the Longbottoms who for years had been beacons of hope for all who knew them; hundreds of teenagers, freshly graduated from Hogwarts and Beauxbatons and Durmstrang who instead of taking their places in the world had become wand fodder…

But now the war was over, and those who survived — the Malfoys, finally freed from an incantation which had caused them to act as the Dark Lord's puppets; the Weasleys who had survived the war intact and could now return to their primary preoccupation of birthing sons and wishing for a daughter; the Blacks, reduced now to three members, excluding the house elf — were eager to grieve the losses quietly and quickly before breathing in the fresh air of freedom.

And into this freedom, two girls were born.

Charlotte and Greg Booth had long wanted a child and, with the war safely behind them, took their oppurtunity. Virginia Emily Booth was born in January, one year after the war ended. For a few years, the small family was happy, while Virginia enjoyed mishaps of accidental magic and befriended both gnomes at the bottom of the garden and muggle children who lived on her street. When Virginia was four, disaster struck in the form of Dragon Pox. Her parents died within a few weeks of contracting the disease. Virginia herself survived for a long time in St Mungo's although all the healers knew that if she lived, she would not have anyone to return home to. But still they hoped that she would pull through because she was sweet and fragile and deserved, they thought, a much longer life than she seemed likely to get.

The Weasley family was known as one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight; twenty-eight families whose magical blood was purer than pure, untainted by muggle ancestry. They lived in a rambling pile of a mansion known as the Burrow which came with the title of Viscount, a title that Arthur Weasley loathed but could never quite shake. Viscount Weasley and his wife, Molly, already had six children. But they wanted just one more, for all they had were boys — all any Weasley had had for several generations now were boys — and they wanted a girl. Shortly after the war ended, the gods who had kept the entire Weasley family intact at the height of the war blessed them with a baby girl. The Weasleys were delighted as were plenty of other pureblood families, many of whom had sons who would, when they came of age, require a pureblood girl to marry. Ginevra Molly Cedrella Weasley adored quidditch and butterbeer and cats. She was the darling of the family, doted upon by her brothers, indulged by her parents and much-loved by all. This abundance of love, however, could not protect Ginevra when she, like Virginia, was infected by Dragon Pox at the age of four.

The two girls were placed on the same ward, and were not allowed visitors due to the contagious quality of their illness. Every day, though, Molly Weasley would sit in the hallway, looking in through the small smudgy window at her daughter fighting for her life, willing Ginevra to get well. Each weekend the entire family would camp out in the hallway: Arthur bringing paperwork that he needed to to complete, and which he would always forget about in favour of watching over Ginevra; William, the eldest, who used to resent babysitting his younger siblings; Charles, who secretly believed that his obsession with dragons had caused his sister to become ill; anxious Percival, periodically fetching snacks for the others; the twins Frederick and George who had always felt that Ginevra was more theirs than anyone else's; and tiny Ronald, not yet able to fully comprehend his mother's grief but sharing in it nonetheless. No one ever came to see Virginia.

It seemed inevitable that at least one of the girls would not survive, and the healers, though too professional to voice these opinions aloud, probably thought that it would be Virginia to succumb. She was much smaller than Ginevra, and only a halfblood, after all. In comparison, Ginevra was fierce, her cheeks flushed with the effort of survival, her fiery hair thrown across the pillow as she muttered and tossed in her sleep while pale, washed-out Virginia lay still and silent in the next bed. Finally, a heroic six months later than anyone might have predicted, one of the girls did die.

If only the healers at St Mungo's had been a little more careful with the paperwork; if only the girls had not had beds next to one another on the same ward; if only they had not both gone by the nickname of "Ginny", then perhaps it would have said _Virginia Emily Booth_ on the death certificate. The healers who had hoped for the sweet girl would have mourned, briefly, but she would have been with her parents in whatever world comes after this one.

Instead, the Weasleys received correspondence from St Mungo's to the effect that their daughter Ginevra had passed away as a result of her illness and that, due to the contagiousness of the disease, her body would not be released for burial. The family was welcome to collect her ashes — which they did, burying the first Weasley girl in over a century under an ash tree on the Burrow estate. And the girl now known as Virginia "Ginny" Booth, miraculously recovered from her own illness, was sent to live with a foster parent named Minerva McGonagall.

Whatever memories she'd had of her former life, already damaged by the disease that had wracked her small body, faded into nothing more than dreams as Minerva brought Ginny up alongside another foster-child, Dean. Minerva believed in bravery and in doing the right thing and protecting those too weak to protect themselves, so it was no wonder that her foster-children, weaned on such virtues, were sorted into Gryffindor when they arrived at Hogwarts. Foster-children with unknown origins have many battles to fight, and Dean and Ginny, closer than a pair of twins, vowed to fight together... to live together... to die together.

But this was not the end of Ginny's tumultuous childhood. During Ginny's first year at school, something dark wormed its way into her head and made her do things she would have nightmares about for the rest of her life. As a result, Ginny knew that the Dark Lord would return well before the whispers began scarcely fifteen years after the war had ended. The Dark Lord was sighted in a far-off land, gathering his followers… a well-known advocate for muggleborn rights was killed in a suspicious accident in Albania… Pettigrew, the traitor, escaped his prison cell… a dark mass of Dementors abandoned their posts at the wave-flung site of Azkaban prison to attend some dark, unknowable gathering…

It was happening again. The children of the last war were growing up as their parents had done: prepared to lay down their lives at eighteen, nineteen, twenty… and some of them did just that, even before the second war began. There were hopes, expressed directly by the Minister of magic, that perhaps He Who Must Not Be Named was not truly back; perhaps the wizarding world could escape unscathed this time. But eventually, as the bodies began piling up (victims of 'suicides' and assassinations and plain old torture courtesy of Bella Lestrange) even the ministry — loathe as they were to acknowledge the existence of darkness in such a glitteringly hopeful time — addressed the likelihood of another war. And just like that, twenty years after the first time, the world ended again.

Within a few short weeks, tentative alliances which had slowly grown over years were shattered; the Malfoys declared their allegiance to the Dark Lord as did the Crabbes and the Carrows and a dozen more of the Sacred Twenty-Eight; six Weasley sons took up arms against their former friends; Ginny Booth and her foster-brother Dean joined the resistance and Minerva, the closest thing either of them had to a mother, was proud but terrified for them.

The second war was shorter. It was not the slow-burning fire of the first war which had consumed fuel until it burned itself out, but a devastating bolt of lightning, scorching the ground, scarring everything it touched until one day, when many had lost hope, it ended without warning. Many death-eaters were convicted though the Malfoys were untraceable. Five Weasley sons came home to the Burrow. Ginny returned to Minerva's house in the Scottish Highlands without Dean, who had been lost somewhere between battles.

For the second time, the wizarding world tried to heal.


	2. One

Chapter One

"Ginny, have you lost your mind?" Minerva McGonagall said sternly to her foster-daughter. "You can't be a servant."

"Of course I can." Ginny looked up, her bright eyes serious. "In fact, it's the _only_ thing I can do."

"What about your quidditch?"

"D'you think the Harpies are hiring now? Or any team, for that matter? Minnie, no one wants to _watch_ quidditch these days, let alone play it. I need to put my broom to better use."

Minerva sighed, looking across the room to where Ginny's broom was propped against the wall. An old Cleansweep, it was the only model Minerva had been able to afford for Ginny's seventeenth, and was well loved, gleaming with polish, the handle worn from years of use so that it fit perfectly into Ginny's palms.

She tried a different approach. "You're a war hero, Ginny. You deserve a better job than being a housemaid for one of the Twenty-Eight."

"Deserve, perhaps," Ginny agreed, "but unless you're a pureblood or an aristocrat — or both — there isn't an awful lot of choice."

Choices for an unknown halfblood with no connections, who had not even finished school, were indeed limited. And at twenty, Ginny felt she had been living off of Minerva's kindness for long enough: foster parents are only required to care for a child up until their eighteenth birthday, after all. Minerva already had her hands full with eleven-year-old Teddy, her latest foster child. His school supplies alone had almost emptied Minerva's bank account and Ginny was determined to find some way to replenish it.

"Don't worry, Minnie. It's not exactly regular housework. Apparently this place is full of dark artefacts which need to be removed, and if anyone's an expert on that sort of thing, it's me!"

"Ginny…"

"And I'll take my broom with me. So you see I will be absolutely fine!"

Ginny was of the opinion that anywhere one could fly a broomstick, one could be fine. Minerva was not too sure about this philosophy, but she tried to smile.

"If you would just wait for a better job to come along…"

"Like what, Minnie?" Ginny said softly, sitting back down beside Minerva on the couch. "Do you think some rich man on a Nimbus 3000 is going to come along and whisk me off to join an international quidditch team?"

Minerva sighed. "You really cannot be a servant, though, Ginny. What would Dean think?"

Ginny's brows furrowed briefly at the mention of her foster-brother and she bit her lip.

"He isn't here to worry about it, is he?"

"And what about Teddy? He barely tolerates school as it is; if he knew you were going to take a menial job he'd drop out to do the same."

Ginny paused to contemplate this. Though she and Dean had never been able to complete their final years at Hogwarts, both she and Minerva was adamant that Teddy should. Teddy, who adored the two of them and hated to be away from them for months at a time, had reluctantly agreed to attend Hogwarts on the condition that when he graduated, he and Ginny would both become famous quidditch players.

"The position is only for a few months, to prepare the house for the new earl. I should be back by the time school finishes, and I'll tell Teddy that I've gotten an apprenticeship at the quidditch stadium nearby. That should keep him happy."

She, clearly pleased with her own cunning.

"I was also thinking that I should cut my hair." She added, looking sideways at her foster-mother. "Housework is very dusty and it would be much easier to look after short hair."

But Minerva, having conceded the housemaid battle, would not allow another defeat. Glaring hard at Ginny, whose waist-length vermilion mane had become, to Minerva over the years, a symbol of hope and survival, she said: "Ginny, you know that I am very proud of you and that your worth is much greater than your looks. But over my dead body are you cutting your hair."

* * *

One week later, Ginny apparated to a spot just outside the grounds of the famous Black estate. It was a beautiful, clear day and Ginny took a moment to admire the scenery before heading towards the house. She had never experienced much of England; between Hogwarts and Minerva's house, Scotland had always been her home, and the serene heathland she saw now was both similar and alien to her: less wild and lost than Scotland, but the fields thick with hardy purple flowers felt familiar. She turned and looked down the road: in the distance, she could make out thatched roofs and a church steeple that indicated the village of Ottery St Catchpole. She even fancied she could hear the bells ringing.

Levitating her suitcase — her school trunk, filled now with her clothes and the muggle cleaning books — she picked up her broom with one hand, the small birdcage containing her owl Pigwidgeon with the other, and set off with determination down the long driveway.

"When serving food, one must always approach from the left — or is it the right?" Ginny quoted aloud one of the few pieces of etiquette she had gleaned from some unknown source. "Do housemaids ever serve food?" She asked Pig, who hooted forlornly. Around her, the grounds had shifted from rough weeds to trimmed grass; everywhere green and soft and pleasant. Trees rose up ahead of her, concealing the house from sight and casting long cool shadows on the drive. Though the gardens had clearly been neglected lately, they were still breathtaking, made even more fairytale-like by the wildflowers growing amok among the flowerbeds and the soft earthen piles of molehills dotting the lawns. Butterflies drifted drunkenly in the air ahead of Ginny and she stopped to watch a pair as they circled each other.

"Surely only footmen do that," she decided as she set off again. She looked at Pig again. Imagining that his hoots were part of a conversation she was having with him seemed to help calm the nerves she felt. "Now, can you remember if — oh my _God._ "

She had passed through the trees and was now facing the house that waited behind them. Grimmauld Place rose starkly into the sky, the dark stone harsh against the lapis summer sky. There was no disguising the sorcery inherent in this building, with its gravity-defying spires and doors set into upper floors that led nowhere and the outer walls which flickered between opaque and rainbow-flecked glass and back as a cloud passed over the sun. In contrast to the heavily stylised upper floors, the sparse, raw architecture on the ground floor made it seem like the skeleton of the house was exposed. Despite the building's intimidating presence and the blatant dark magic it displayed, it was still beautiful. Ginny wanted to turn and flee.

Before she could, a door swung open and the building's soul flooded out, gliding towards her in the form of an ghostly pale owl. Or perhaps it was just a pet. She landed gracefully on Ginny's case, inspecting Ginny before turning her attention to Pig, who kept her distracted for a few moments as she puzzled to discern what, exactly, the tiny bird _was_. Ginny stroked the owl's plumage with two fingers until the owl indicated that she was prepared to take their friendship to the next level by alighting on Ginny's shoulder and nipping her ear gently.

"Stop that! Can't you tell I'm here for an interview? I need to look presentable." She craned away from the owl, gathering her skirts. The owl followed, hooting cheerfully as Ginny circled to the back of the house in search of the servants' entrance. Only when she began descending the steps to enter the servants' quarters did the owl stop, hovering in the air as if she had been enchanted not to enter. Perhaps she had; the snobbery of some purebloods never ceased to amaze Ginny, and the idea of casting a spell to keep one's pet from interacting with one's servants didn't seem too far a stretch.

"Just you and me again, Pig," She said as she placed a hand on the doorknob. "You ready?"

The owl looked at her with wide night-eyes.

"No, neither am I."

* * *

Waiting to interview Ginny were Hannah Abbott and Neville Longbottom. They were not expecting much and, in fact, would both have preferred not to take on anyone new. Most of the staff were new, hired by the earl because he had met them during the war and felt some kind of duty to ensure they had a stable income when they came out the other side of it. The exceptions to this rule were Neville and Hannah who, despite their class status, had been brought up alongside the earl, thus earning them the highest ranking positions among the household staff: that of housekeeper and butler (although Neville much preferred overseeing the garden to the workings of the house). Hannah was a blonde, pink-cheeked young woman, the very embodiment of welcoming, gifted in transfiguration, and eagled-eyed. She dealt with the big picture and negotiation, preferring leave the finer details to Neville. He was the ideal candidate for this: more introverted than Hannah, with an extraordinary memory for minutiae, and a slightly awkward manner exacerbated by his height which he had never felt comfortable at.

Neither of them were old enough to recall what Grimmauld Place had been like years ago, which was frankly a blessing because the house's current dilapidated state might then have been too much to take. Hannah and Neville did not pine for the days when there was a servant for every spell that needed casting and more besides, along with house-elves and under-gardeners and librarians and laundry maids, yet they still felt the loss. Despite — or perhaps because of — the Blacks' general predilection to agree with You Know Who, Grimmauld Place had lost many people to the two wars. First to go had been Lord Regulus, the younger son, and for many years no one had known what he did to try to destroy You Know Who. In the years between the two wars, the rest of the Black family had died quietly, without fuss, until only Lord Sirius remained. Then he, too, was lost during the second war. Below stairs: the former butler had been executed after You Know Who discovered he was a double agent; Dennis Creevey — who should have been at school taking his OWLs — was killed by a carelessly-aimed unforgivable during a night-raid; a girl named Susan had been attacked by a werewolf during the final battle. To fill this void, Neville persuaded Luna Lovegood to step into the cook's shoes which she did with some trepidation and a great deal of whimsy. Hannah tracked down Lavender Brown who had been attacked alongside Susan and bore her scars along with survivor's guilt, and begged her return to Grimmauld. And the earl sent young men and women ahead of him from the battlefield.

Even with this help, the sheer size of Grimmauld was almost too much for the staff to deal with. Lord Remus, Sirius' partner, and Lady Andromeda, Sirius' only surviving relative, attempted to ease the work load by cloistering themselves into one lonely turret, shutting the rest of the house, and the dark artefacts still lurking there, away from the world. Grimmauld Place grew cold and dusty, with rooms where not even the earl's owl Hedwig dared enter. When word came that the earl was to return, Hannah began mentally preparing for the task of selling the house while Neville started, discreetly, looking for positions that would allow him to continue caring for his elderly grandmother.

The only hope for the House of Black lay, not with a member of the family (of which there were precious few left), but with Lord Sirius' godson Harry Potter. The boy had put the entirety of his soul and a good deal else of himself into ending the war, risking his life so many times that Remus and Andromeda and Neville and Hannah, each of whom had scant few people left in their lives, had barely dared to hope that he might come out the other side intact. But though You Know Who had hit him with the killing curse, somehow, miraculously, he was still alive. People were calling him the chosen one, though to his friends and family this meant less than the fact that he was coming home.

But would he be home for good? Or was he only returning to see the house sold? Remembering the quiet, brave boy who had detested all that the House of Black stood for — _toujours pur —_ the inhabitants of Grimmauld could only speculate. Harry's instructions sent ahead of his return had been equally vague: Grimmauld was to be brought out of the dark ages by removing every dark artefact and re-opening every room in the house. Apart from the staff that Harry himself sent, anyone that Neville or Hannah felt it necessary to employ were to be temporary staff only. The young woman that the pair were about to interview was to be one such temporary servant — given that she was up to task.

* * *

Ginny stood before them, twisting her wand nervously between her fingers, waiting for their verdict. As Neville and Hannah examined her, they were not disappointed, exactly, but certainly not encouraged. She was familiar to them, not from the world of housework where they both felt most comfortable, but from the realms of combat and bloodshed into which most people had been forced to enter. The stance which added inches to Ginny's average height; the determined set of her mouth as she faced her adversaries; her quick fingers drumming along the length of her wand, were all attributes which, while admirable, were not skills that could easily be adapted from battlefield to domestic work.

She was not all warrior, though: the parts of her that weren't perfectly suited to war were soft, tender, and far more eye-catching than housemaids ought to be. Her fawn eyes gleamed as if caught in a sunbeam though no natural light penetrated the room, and the core of her being, shrouded by protective armour, still emanated a zephyr aura capable of forgiving the world its hardness and faults. Though her hair was pulled back into a plait, lustrous Titian tendrils had escaped to dance around her face, which, like a Tiger Lily in full bloom, was dusted with pollen-like russet freckles.

"You are Virginia Booth?" Hannah said, glancing down at the girl's resumé.

"Yes."

"You have no previous experience of housework?"

"No, but I answered your advertisement because I have some experience dealing with dark artefacts."

"Yes, I can see that here." Hannah slid the paper across to Neville who noted the successful destruction of a Horcrux amongst Ginny's various achievements. He fought to keep his expression blank.

"I don't think you understand what the extent of your duties will be here," he said carefully. "In addition to removing dark artefacts from the house, Grimmauld Place is in dire need to refurbishment and cleaning before the earl returns. We won't be able to offer you formal training and you'll be expected to help anywhere in the house, or even in the gardens if necessary."

"I can do that." Ginny said resolutely. "I _can_."

"With your previous experience, Miss Booth," Hannah said, "You might do better in another line of employment. You're certainly qualified for a more regarded career."

"There is nothing else." Ginny said. Then as the silence stretched and Neville and Hannah exchanged a doubtful look, she added: "Please?"

Neville sighed and looked at Hannah, who nodded. It _was_ only a temporary position.

"Very well," he said. "We'll take you."

* * *

She was given a bedroom in the attics, miles away from the ground floor and, it seemed, any other living creature. It was sparse and small, with a narrow bed, a small bedside-table and a wardrobe whose paintwork was peeling. Pig, released from his cage, flew happily around the room, perching on top of the wardrobe to survey his new kingdom. Sunlight streamed in from the window which had no curtains. A dark green dress, two white aprons and a white cap were hanging in the wardrobe, along with a velveteen indigo dress and a lace-edged apron to be worn for formal occasions.

Ginny unpacked quickly, resting her broom against the wall by the door and piling her books under the bedside table. Looking around her room, she became aware of how silent it was, and how very far from home and everyone she loved she was. Her vision suddenly blurred with tears and finding it hard to breathe properly, she went to the window, pushing it open. After a few steadying breaths, she felt almost normal again. From here, she could see the strange topography of the enchanted house's roof with it's gargoyles and skylights and magical wards. And the view beyond was charming. She could see, emerging from the treetops, a set of quidditch goalposts and to her left, if she leaned around the protrusion of her room, the village nestled in the hills, the church spire rising above the rest of the buildings. To her right the flower gardens faded gently into dense greenery lapping the edges of an aegean lake. Birds sang amongst the chimney-pots and she could smell apples from an orchard nearby.

Watching the clouds drift across the sky, Ginny decided to put everything she had into making the interiors of Grimmauld Place every bit as beautiful as the outside. She withdrew her head back into the room and pulled her green dress from the wardrobe. It fit fine, if a little tightly, but it would do. The apron and the cap fitted nicely, although Ginny couldn't help but feel that, for housework, the starched white fabric would be a hindrance more than a help.

* * *

Grimmauld Place's kitchen was a delightful place: with red-brick walls, the enormous, perpetually-lit fireplace and the long table where countless gourmet meals had been prepared, it was worlds away from the high-ceilinged, shadowy corridors of the main house. Standing at the table now distractedly kneading dough was Luna, a woman whose pale colouring made her look as if she belonged more to the afterlife than reality. She, along with Hannah and Neville, had grown up near to the Black estate and over the years had developed, in addition with numerous eccentric beliefs, an unexpected talent for cooking. In her short time working as chef at Grimmauld Place, the kitchen had changed from a heavily guarded area of the house to a warm, light-filled room where dreamcatchers hung from the rafters and all servants felt welcome to visit.

There were a number of servants in the kitchen when Ginny came downstairs. Beside Luna stood Lavender, the head housemaid, nursing a mug of tea and chatting idly with Luna. Resting an elbow on the flour-coated surface of the table, she smiled at her friend, the scar on her cheek stretching as she did so. Next to Lavender, the first footman Seamus had pulled up a chair and opposite him sat Parvati and Padma Patil, giggling as Seamus slid the sugar pot towards them. Colin, the second footman, sat at the end of the table, sipping his tea quietly, content to listen in on the others' conversations. Dobby, a house-elf freed by Lord Potter himself and who now worked for a modest salary amongst the other kitchen staff, was mixing the next batch of dough for Luna; Neville and Hannah hovered in the doorway, looking over some housekeeping costs; even Hagrid, who tended to the meagre remnants of the stables and owlery, had dropped in for a quick chat and a cuppa.

Lavender was the first to see Ginny; straightening up, she nudged Seamus, and he and the other servants slew around to greet the new servant.

"You must be Virginia." Lavender said.

"Ginny." She corrected, slipping into a chair beside Colin.

"Have some tea, why don't you?" Luna said. "It's my own brew." She continued as Ginny poured herself a cup. "I make it with dirigible plums."

"Made with what?" Ginny said, and took a sip of her tea before promptly choking on it. Colin thumped her on the back while Luna continued kneading, apparently unaware that anything was wrong. "It's very — um — interesting," Ginny said once she was able to speak.

"Thank you. The dirigible plum has many beneficial characteristics."

"But tasting good is not one of them." Seamus said in a low voice. Padma nodded, casting a sympathetic glance at Ginny.

"So," Ginny said after a moment, looking down at the undrinkable tea before her, "I don't suppose any of you like to play quidditch in your free time?"

This question was met by a collective blank stare which Ginny took to mean that not only did none of her new coworkers play quidditch, but also that free time was a thing unheard of here.

* * *

Somewhere between the servants' world — consisting of the tiny attics where they slept, and the maze of pantries and cellars where they worked and cooked and lived — was the house where the rest of society existed. There were rooms upon rooms, each shrouded in sheets and shut off from daylight by heavy drapes, their walls lined with portraits of haughty Black ancestors who looked sneeringly down on the servants as they passed, and containing cabinets filled with all manner of execrable curios. Here and there among the stygian chambers there were rooms which gave Ginny an indication of what the house might be, once they were finished with it: a library with bookcases reaching up into the high, vaulted ceiling, the books placed in loving order on the shelves and in some instances, inside birdcages or padlocked shut or, in the case of one particularly vocal volume, wrapped in fine grey silk; the portrait room where one art-loving Black had tracked down masterpieces and remastered the subjects with spells to make them walk and talk like wizarding portraits; the salon which the previous earl's husband and cousin tended to frequent, where music was always playing and fresh flowers sat in vases on every surface.

It was into this world that Ginny entered the next morning, and began to work.

She woke at half five, ate breakfast with the other servants — avoiding the dirigible plum jam that was Luna's one culinary failure (although she did not see it that way) — and, armed with her wand and a pair of curse-resistant gloves, followed Lavender and Colin to the library.

Once, the Library of Grimmauld Place had been famous. It housed rare and unique texts, ancient books of extinct spells and potions, and, high up on the back wall, one of only three known paintings of the great Merlin himself. Now, though, Merlin looked down disdainfully at the bookshelves, shrouded by black drapes and un-dusted for years. The writing tables and couches were in equal disrepair but the worst thing about the library was the number of dark artefacts which littered the bookshelves, shoved haphazardly out of sight by a previous Black who had wanted to make a good impression on the visiting Minister of Magic.

"Oh, hush!" Lavender said when, after she opened the library doors, every book with the capacity to speak had begun complaining loudly about the state of the room. "We'll get to you lot eventually. Ignore them," She said to Ginny. "I need you to get all those gizmos off of the shelves and bring them over here so we can dispose of them. Carefully!" Lavender added. "Use your gloves!"

So it was that Ginny spent the morning climbing up ladders, retrieving objects of potential mass destruction. Standing atop the ladder some thirty feet from the floor, she couldn't help but wish that whoever had wanted these things gone years ago had just done a proper job of it.

Then came the identification and disposal of the items. There was a grey, mummified object which might have been a hand of glory, though no one was willing to touch it with their bare hands to find out; a potion bottle giving off noxious fumes that caused severe nausea and vision to darken, even with the stopper just loosened; a deck of tarot cards that predicted death no matter how many times one selected a card. Inside a well-secured ring-box was a tiny sterling ring with a fiery opal jewel. Ginny looked at the jewel for too long and found herself hypnotised, coming close slipping the ring onto her finger without caring why it might be a bad idea. It was only Seamus' powerful disarming charm, knocking the ring from Ginny's hands, that prevented her from putting it on. When they inspected the ring later, they found a cache of poison deep within the opal.

By mid-afternoon, Ginny was bruised all over by artefacts that had fought back, and her head ached. But she had not complained, and now only the relatively simple task of cleaning the library remained. Moving a picture frame so that she could dust the mantelpiece, Ginny realised that she was looking at a photograph of the elusive earl.

The photo was of two men: one with traditional good looks and laugh lines around his eyes. He winked at Ginny, grinning rakishly. His arm was slung across the shoulders of a younger man, practically a boy, slender and dark. His eyes flickered towards the camera and then away, as if there was something more interesting just out of frame.

"That's Lord Sirius, the one who died." Lavender said, looking over Ginny's shoulder and pointing at the elder of the two men. "God, we all loved him! He knew how to have fun, even when things were bad."

"And this is the new earl?" Ginny asked.

"Yes, Sirius' godson. Harry."

"He looks… special. Unique." Ginny watched as Sirius leaned to speak in his godson's ear. The boy allowed a small smile to creep across his face and he looked directly into the camera — at Ginny — once again.

"He'd have to be, being the chosen one." Lavender said lightly.

* * *

On her fourth day at Grimmauld Place Ginny found that Neville, so likeable and kind-hearted, was related to a sharp-tongued and pedantic elderly woman with whom he shared a cottage in the stable block.

She had spent the morning in the scullery methodically washing, drying and polishing a set of burnished silver tableware, engraved with the Black family's crest. Then she had popped out to the gardens with a message for Hagrid, and as she crossed the stable-yard on her way back had heard the sound of china breaking. Investigating the source of the noise, Ginny encountered Neville's grandmother, sat up in bed with the remains of a teapot shattered on the floor beside her. Once a proud and active woman who had raised Neville alone, she was now bed-ridden and consequently stir-crazy.

"Who are you? Where's Neville? I need a new tea-set!" The old woman demanded.

"I am a housemaid, and Neville is busy at present but I can bring you another tea-set if you allow me."

When Neville came in to see his grandmother, noticing with apprehension that he was ten minutes later than he had promised to be, he found her absorbed in conversation with Ginny.

"I'm sorry I'm late," he began, but the old woman shushed him.

"Be quiet! We're telling war tales. I didn't always used to be useless and bed-ridden, you know," she added, to Ginny.

When Ginny had left, she asked again: "Who is that girl?"

"She told you, she's the new housemaid."

"Her? A housemaid? Don't be ridiculous."

* * *

She had been at Grimmauld Place for ten days before Ginny finally met a member of the family — the only surviving member of the Black family: Lady Andromeda Black. Ginny was instructed to take afternoon tea to Lady Andromeda.

"You have to be careful with her ladyship," Parvati, whose regular job this was, said to Ginny. "She doesn't like you to talk to her, and she can be sharp if you do anything wrong. If you hear classical music, leave the tray on the table and get out quick, 'cause she hates to be disturbed when she's listening to music."

Hearing the strident sounds of violins, Ginny paused outside Andromeda's room, preparing herself for the wrath she might face. As she opened the door, the music was overwhelmingly loud, eclipsing Ginny's other senses. She had never heard much classical music, but the emotion in such an old, wordless genre surprised her.

Lady Andromeda was listening to the music, eyes closed, and made no sign that she had heard Ginny enter. Treading softly so as not to disturb her, Ginny deposited the tea set on the table beside Andromeda's sofa. She turned to leave, but as she did so, the music changed, shifting into a haunting minor key. Clasping the tea tray to her chest, Ginny closed her eyes, immersing herself in this piece she had never heard before. Andromeda opened her eyes and saw the housemaid standing in the middle of the room, swaying slightly as if drunk on harmonies.

"What are you doing?"

"I didn't know that classical music could be like this," Ginny said, forgetting herself. "I thought it was stuffy and boring."

"Stuffy?" Andromeda repeated coolly.

"I was so wrong!" Ginny went on. "This is…" She shook her head wonderingly. "It's magic."

Andromeda eyed the girl. This would usually be the point where she would dismiss the girl for being unprofessional and overly-familiar, but something in the wide-eyed way she was listening to the music, the fact that she was hearing a piece which to Andromeda was as familiar as breathing, gave her pause.

"Muggles may not be good at many things, but one thing they do know is music." She said, and patted the space beside her. "Sit, listen with me."

"Oh, I can't! I'm a maid." Ginny said.

"Well, stay until the end, at least."

So Ginny stayed, sinking down onto the arm of the sofa.

"Are you a musician, my lady?"

"I wanted to be," Andromeda said with a sad shake of her head. "But when I was young, aristocratic ladies were expected to confine themselves to household charms and proper pureblood activities, like abusing house-elves." Her voice took on a bitter tone. "My husband played the piano. And I had hoped my daughter might have become a musician. But…"

"Not much call for pianists during a war, is there?" Ginny said softly.

Andromeda shook her head, and they lapsed into silence. Ginny stayed until the end of the piece, and to the end of the next one, and the next.

She returned to the kitchen some twenty minutes later, her cheeks red, biting her lip as she stood before Lavender, expecting remonstration. Instead she was greeted by the curious faces of the other housemaids.

"She shouted at you, then?" Parvati said. "I warned you she might."

"No, she didn't. She gave me a record." Ginny looked down at the vinyl disk in her hand, her expression somewhat perplexed as if she couldn't remember how she got it.

"How odd." Luna said. "There must be a secret message on it. Play it, why don't you? And have some tea."

Ginny, who had already come to appreciate Luna's tea — which really did have myriad beneficial characteristics — poured herself a cup and put the record on the player in the corner of the kitchen.

* * *

Two days later, Ginny encountered Lady Andromeda again, this time in the salon where the lady of the house was taking tea with Remus Lupin. Every member of staff at Grimmauld Place would have gladly lain down their lives for Mr Lupin. Less brash and more compassionate than his husband, with a lined and friendly face, no one who spoke to him would know how badly the loss of almost all his loved ones had affected him. In recent years, though, Remus had rarely left the house— in part unable to bear the sight of Grimmauld Place without Sirius' presence, and in part scared to face the light of the moon and what it might make him do.

When Ginny entered the room, the wireless in the corner was tuned to a quidditch match, and she crossed the room as slowly as possible, her ears tuned to the commentator's voice.

"Look, this is the one I was telling you about," Andromeda said as Ginny set the tray down. "Come here, Virginia."

"Yes," Mr Lupin said, regarding Ginny's face thoughtfully. "Yes, I think you're right. There _is_ something familiar about her — but what?"

"That's what I can't figure out," said Andromeda. Ginny shifted from one foot to the other, wondering if she was dismissed or not. "I'm inclined to say she has the Malfoy nose, but of course that's not it."

Stifling a snort of derision at this remark, Ginny turned to look at the wireless. The Cannons were playing the Tornados and she cared about neither team, but it had been a long time since she had played and she missed it dearly. Remus noticed her interest and said: "Ah, you're a quidditch fan, I see."

"Who isn't?" She answered automatically.

"I am not." Lady Andromeda said, drawing herself up tall in her chair. Ginny flushed, stumbling over an apology, but Mr Lupin laughed.

"Don't listen to Meda. She likes scaring the servants. Do you play?"

"Chaser." She said with a small smile.

"I myself never really played, but an old friend of mine — the Earl's father, in fact — was a brilliant seeker."

"Like father like son." Andromeda said. "Thank you for the tea, Virginia."

This time, Ginny recognised the dismissal and as she left, Mr Lupin and Lady Black resumed their conversation.

"So, if it's not the Malfoy nose, then what is it?"

"I think it's simply the hair. Merlin knows we know enough redheads."

* * *

And thus day by day the staff worked to remove the darkness and disrepair from the house, encouraging pockets of enchantment to shine through until Grimmauld Place became inhabitable, its beauty surpassing the days of Blacks past. The windows were opened, allowing scented summer air to enter the rooms; Padma brought in vase after vase of flowers until they overflowed from every windowsill and fireplace. The cabinet of remembralls, polished to perfection by Ginny, stood in the drawing room, emitting the warm glow of firelight. The portraits hung straight; their occupants looking with satisfaction at their restored paintwork.

Finally, one evening in June, Ginny — who had that day removed a family of Grindylows from an upstairs bathroom, dusted and polished the enormous chandelier in the ballroom and changed the sheets on fifteen separate beds — stood at her open window in her tiny attic room and looked up at the stars and addressed the unknown earl:

"It's finished. You can come."

The next day, he did.


	3. Two

Chapter Two

He came on the modified motorcycle that had belonged to his godfather and as the miles sped away below its wheels, Harry's reluctance to return increased.

Harry was already a Viscount and the inheritor of the Potter estate — largely defunct now apart from a modest property near Godric's Hollow which he had never visited — and had not expected to become an earl for many years, if at all. Wizards lived for a long time and Sirius Black, despite the disreputable tales of his youth, had all the qualities of a country gentleman and a true pureblood. Extroverted, cheerful Sirius who, with Remus by his side, had hosted many of the best magical gatherings in the past decades, and who was now dead, leaving behind not even a body to bury. Harry had seen Grimmauld Place as the hub of his social life, but had planned to relocate himself to the smaller, less ostentatious house in Godric's Hollow from which he might rebuild and discover himself after the war. After years of rumours surrounding him, the whispers of _prophecies_ and _destiny_ and _chosen one,_ Harry had been looking forward to a quiet life within flying distance of his childhood friends and family.

It was only recalling Sirius' words the last time he'd seen his godfather that had given Harry pause. In his youth, Sirius had hated the dark reputation of Grimmauld Place almost as much as Harry; but when only he and his cousin Andromeda remained, Sirius had realised his opportunity to reshape his childhood home into something he could be proud of.

"If something happens to me, Harry," he'd said, solemn for once, "Promise you'll look after Grimmauld Place for me." When Harry had hesitated, Sirius had placed a hand on his godson's shoulder and added: "Please."

And Harry had promised that he would. But later, looking over bills and wages and his embarrassingly sparse Gringotts accounts, he had found no way to honour Sirius' last wish. That was until he had been graced by a miracle he had not dared to hope for, that would allow him to salvage Grimmauld, and ensure that he could continue to provide a home for the people he loved.

As he rode down the long gravel drive, Harry thought fondly of the person who had given him that miracle and, reluctance forgotten, took in the magnificent sight of Grimmauld Place, picturing the people who waited inside.

He had come home.

* * *

"How was the journey?" Neville asked when he met him at the front doors.

"Not bad," Harry said, smiling at his old friend. Looking beyond Neville to the grand stairway, his eyes widened at the people clustered around the base. The Grimmauld of his childhood, run by Sirius, had never been big on rank and servitude, so the assembled servants seemed, to Harry, to crowd the foyer. Though the staff seemed to have put some effort into appearing orderly, many had broken away from the formation, eager to see their friend — and earl.

"Everyone was keen to greet you as soon as you arrived." Neville explained with a grin.

"I can see that!"

If Harry had been hoping for some privacy when he returned, there was no indication in his face that he was anything less than ecstatic to see everyone.

"Hannah! You look lovely, as ever. As does the house," He added, looking round at the foyer, which he had never seen so saturated with sunshine before.

"You don't look so bad yourself," she said, pulling him in for a hug and pecking his cheek. "Although you could do with a haircut."

"You'd be surprised how few hairdressers I've spoken to in the past few years." He ran a hand through his unkempt hair, shrugging. "And Luna! What do you think of this place?"

"There are definitely no nargles here, which is more than I could say when I arrived." Luna said after a thoughtful pause.

Harry compared battle-scars with Lavender, asked after Colin's parents, shared an inside joke with the Patils. Finally, there was no one left but a young witch who did not seem to have the usual bearing of a servant. Her eyes — brown flecked with gold, sunlight filtering through the tangled branches of an oak — were obscured by her hair as she bobbed a curtsy which managed to be both sincere and shamelessly mocking at the same time.

"This is Virginia. She's a temporary hire, just as you instructed." Said Neville from somewhere beside Harry.

"It's Ginny," she corrected, looking up at him from between wayward strands of fiery hair before adding, "M'lord."

"Just Harry is fine,"

"Oh, _good_." She said. "I'm not good at the whole obsequience thing."

"It's a good thing you're not a servant, then," he said, raising an eyebrow at her. She ginned back, dimples materialising in her cheeks amongst the frenzy of freckles.

This earl was not only nice — as she had expected him to be, from her colleagues' accounts of him — but droll, too, and rather different than his numerous titles and fame had led her to assume. His emerald eyes gleamed against the dark russet skin of his face and his charcoal hair fell messily across his forehead. She liked the power that she could sense compacted into his body; the compassion with which he spoke to her and the others.

"Have we ever met before?" He asked, for there was something terribly familiar about this girl; the light behind her eyes and the slow smile that had spread across her face. She shook her head, but seemed unsure herself.

"It's possible. I was a member of Dumbledore's Army," she offered up the name of the resistance group Harry had founded years ago, when he was still a teenager.

"Oh." No wonder she didn't look like a servant; she was a warrior. "You and your family got through the war intact, I hope?"

"My foster mother and my youngest brother did," she said, "but my other brother, Dean…" She trailed off, and the light in her eyes vanished.

"I'm sorry for your loss." Harry offered. "Not many people escaped unscathed." Reflexively, his hand went to his hair again, ruffling it so that his iconic lightning-bolt scar was obscured. "But you like it here, then?"

"I really do." The dimples resurfaced as Ginny looked first at the huge portrait on the wall opposite her, before her gaze flickered to the windows and the skies outside. "My one complaint is that there aren't enough quidditch players among your staff to constitute a game."

"That truly is a travesty." Harry agreed solemnly. He was struck by a wild urge to challenge Ginny to a game right then and there, but recalling the good news he still had to break to his family, he moved past her and up the stairs.

* * *

"Congratulations, Harry," The familiar creased smile on Remus' face as he looked at his godson was a comforting sight to Harry. "We were wondering if you ever planned on settling down."

Their lunch, a soup concocted by Luna, had somehow turned out to be delicious, despite the presence of dirigible plums picked by Ginny from the gardens.

"It's a lot earlier than I had been planning to," Harry admitted. "But I know you'll both like Pansy. I can't imagine anyone being a better fit for Grimmauld Place than she is. And she's very happy for the two of you to stay on here."

"Oh, I shouldn't think we'll do that." Remus looked at Andromeda, who nodded. "Nothing is more tiresome to a newly-wed couple than ancient relatives hanging around."

"I don't want to kick you out," Harry argued, his brow creasing, "You really ought to have ownership of the place, anyway, Moony. Or you, Meda." He looked at his second cousin entreatingly.

"Yes, well, inheritance laws being what they are…" Andromeda shrugged. There followed a rather awkward silence as the three of them pictured an alternate reality in which Countess Andromeda Black or Earl Remus Lupin-Black had ownership of the Black estate.

"How did the two of you meet?" Andromeda looked up from the cup of tea she'd been contemplating.

"At St Mungo's. She was working as a healer during the war and luckily for me, she was still there by the time I arrived. The other healers were well intentioned but most of them couldn't heal much more than a cold." Harry recalled Romilda Vane, who had been more concerned with her boyfriend than with Harry's broken bones, and Cho Chang, a soft-spoken girl who, having lost her boyfriend only a week before, had been incapable of even the most basic pain-reducing charms. "Pansy was so quick to help whenever I needed it; her presence so soothing… but I didn't realise she felt — _that_ way about me — until…" — he broke off, and Remus and Andromeda exchanged a glance, because Harry never did realise when women felt _that way_ about him. "Of course she's wealthy, but she's intelligent too, and beautiful, and she won't put up with any of my nonsense, I can already tell."

"She sounds perfect." Remus said.

"She is." Harry agreed. "I'm just lucky she accepted my proposal. With the state of my Gringotts account, I'm not much of a catch." He frowned, trying again to remember exactly when and how he _had_ proposed. Everything was a little fuzzy; SkeleGro did that to a person. He remembered waking up after the bones in his hand had healed to find Pansy holding said hand, talking about the life they would share together. "She's offered to take care of the household costs already, which is why I wanted only temporary staff, although she's happy to keep employing Neville and Hannah and the others."

"She sounds delightful." Andromeda said. "And when will the wedding be?"

"Yes, we need to meet her family before we plan anything." Remus added.

"Well, that's the thing. Pansy's parents… She doesn't like to talk about it, but — they weren't very kind to her. She hasn't seen them for years — they might even be dead — but if they weren't she wouldn't want them to come."

Andromeda and Remus murmured words of empathy and sorrow.

"She's had a difficult life." Harry's eyes were soft as he imagined his fiancée as a child, suffering at the hands of her parents. "So we've decided we want to be married here. The church in Ottery St Catchpole."

"That sounds ideal — this way everyone will be able to come, even the staff."

"Exactly. We want it to be soon, too. Nothing like a good wedding to cheer everyone up after a war," Harry said with a wry smile. "We thought perhaps by the beginning of August."

"That _is_ soon." Andromeda murmured.

"Well, why not? Remus countered. "If they love each other,"

Andromeda waved a hand through the air, as if acknowledging Remus' point and not wanting to argue it.

"Any bridesmaids?" She asked instead.

"Pansy mentioned an old friend of hers — Millicent, I believe her name was. And one of the Greengrass sisters, I can't recall which. But she also mentioned needing a flower girl and a page-boy, if we knew of anyone."

"Well," Andromeda sipped her tea contemplatively, "I think we know two perfect candidates."

"Dominique and Louis!" Harry said. "Of _course._ "

* * *

It was late that evening when Andromeda and Remus finally retired. Though he was exhausted too, Harry walked through the moonlit rooms of his home, unable to believe that he was truly home. Something fluttered high in the rafters of the foyer, and then Hedwig emerged from the shadows, landing on his shoulder as he pushed open the doors. The night outside was something from a fairytale: on the horizon the sunset still lingered in a brush-stroke of fiery gold and red and the air was warm, barely scented by summer flowers. Harry took a route past quidditch goalposts that hadn't been used for years, through rarely-visited gardens filled with magical flora planted by the first Blacks hundreds of years ago. Pale lilies bloomed in the darkness, their fragrance amortentia-like in the moonlight. A tree, stretching upwards infinitely, bore tiny, delicate blossoms that glowed lilac, illuminating the path ahead. A bed of roses emitted the scents of chocolate and parchment and mint. Amongst the magical plants were muggle flowers, made exotic by the lands they had been imported from, and encouraged to flourish in England's mild climate by Neville's tender care and skilled charm-casting: frangipane and jacaranda and foxtail lilies.

Hedwig left Harry to hunt amongst the flowers for small rodents, one of which she deposited at Harry's feet before disappearing into the night once more. Harry passed the temple of Morgan Le Fay, built on an island in the middle of the lake, and the folly where ghouls and werewolves were purported to frequent — and then he stopped. He was now standing at the edge of the tree-line, facing an expanse of meadow populated by wildflowers and grasses. There was something gliding across the space, zigzagging back and forth very close to the ground. He drew his wand, but as the dark shape came closer it came into focus: a person riding a broom. The rider reached down, allowing her fingers to drag through the wildflowers before she pulled up sharply, rocketing into the sky. She paused, high above the trees, looking into the distance. Her hair fluttered in the breeze, silver under the light of the moon. It was clear to Harry who she was.

She executed several perfect loops and her laughter, childishly delighted, floated towards him. He knew that he should leave; to allow the girl her private moment of joy alone as she so clearly wished to be. But what if she lost control of the broom? Even as he thought this, Harry knew there was no way that she would hurt herself. She flew as birds did: instinctively, without hesitation, dropping into the open air with the certainty that her broom would lift her higher. As she began to drift towards the ground, Hedwig flew out of the canopy towards her, her feathered wings catching in the girl's hair. Ginny shrieked, clamping a hand over her mouth as she realised what had attacked her.

"Hedwig! What are you doing?" She scolded, her voice commanding but a little fragile, stolen by the wind. "Shush!" She added as the owl hooted. Landing clumsily, Ginny stumbled as she struggled to control the bird.

Harry's voice, echoing across the meadow, stopped Ginny and Hedwig mid-motion.

"Come here, Hedwig."

The owl came to him, landing upon his shoulder docilely as if she had not just been terrorising Ginny. Ignoring her affectionate nips, he walked towards Ginny, who was stood in the centre of the meadow, clutching her broom.

"Looks like you don't need fellow quidditch-players to enjoy flying."

"No," she admitted, "But I like competition." She flashed him a sharp smile. She was wearing what appeared to be an old quidditch uniform and her freckled limbs were bare to the elements. She looked like the goddess Freyja incarnate: one hand wrapped around her broom and the other holding her wand aloft; strands of hair clinging to her cheeks and sweat-covered shoulders.

"You're not the only one." He cast a glance over his shoulder to where he could just see Grimmauld Place beyond the trees. "We should go inside. It's getting cold."

She nodded, wrapping her arm around her torso for warmth. Harry shrugged off his jacket and offered it to her.

"No, thank you." She lifted a hand in protest. "It's kind of you but you shouldn't, my lord."

" _Harry_." He corrected. She shrugged, her eyes flitting away from his and landing on Hedwig, still perched on his shoulder. "Do you come out here often?"

She nodded. "Housework is — not dull but… repetitive. And confining. Very different to flying. When I was younger I used to fly all the time. I taught myself." A touch of pride seeped into her voice.

"Did you play at school?"

"I was chaser for a while. And you… let me guess. Seeker?"

"How did you know?"

She grinned up at him. "You're the Boy Who Lived. Who _doesn't_ know your quidditch position?"

It was hard to tell if she was joking.

They had reached the steps leading up to the front doors of the house and Ginny stopped.

"I should use the servants' entrance." She said softly.

"You don't need to." His voice was equally hushed.

"Actually, my lord," she said, and this time he didn't bother to correct her. "I think I do."

* * *

News of Lord Potter's engagement spread quickly. Just an hour after Harry's return, Hagrid presented him with a bouquet of viciously purple flowers that burst into flame if left too long without watering — as an engagement present, he said — and Mrs Figg, who had often babysat Harry and his cohorts when they were very young, began composing a speech that she hoped she would be able to read at the reception. Harry's friends from all corners of the country volunteered their services, be it baking the wedding cake, planning floral arrangements, offering to conduct the ceremony. Everyone who knew Harry felt that, at long last, he deserved this happiness.

The servants, equally excited for the upcoming wedding, also found that a weight had been lifted from their shoulders. Each had been of the private opinion that they had been refurbishing Grimmauld Place for the purpose of putting it up for sale, and the knowledge that now their jobs would be secure for as long as they wanted them lightened the mood of the servant's quarters considerably. Neville had not been worried for himself; he was a competent butler, and in addition an exceptional gardener and could likely have found work elsewhere, but for Hagrid he had worried; few people were keen to employ half-giants these days. Employers looked even less favourably upon free house-elves. Like Neville, Luna was the sole support for an elderly relative and she relied heavily on her job at Grimmauld. So it was with goodwill, high spirits and immense relief that the servants toasted the earl's bride that evening.

"And I shall be able to attend the wedding in July!" Ginny said. Her contract had been extended until the end of that month. "I don't think I have ever been to a wedding before. I suppose it shall be tremendously exciting, and everyone will look so beautiful in their formal robes."

Remus and Andromeda came down from the turret where they usually spent their days, and became more invested in the running of the house and in the planning of the wedding. Remus wrote lists and lists of people who ought to be invited, whilst Andromeda met several times with Luna to plan the menu. Slowly but surely, a design came forth: a country wedding at the peak of summer and a happy couple surrounded by flowers and sunshine and beaming relatives and friends.

* * *

The first person to visit and congratulate Harry was his best friend — and best man — Ronald Weasley. He came over from the Burrow. Less than ten miles from Grimmauld Place, the Burrow was a magnificently sprawled property which had originally been a modest red-brick house and had, over generations, been added to and refurbished so many times that the initial building had been lost amongst the renovations. Now the eclectic palace was home to several generations of Weasleys: Viscount and Viscountess Weasley, their five sons and — in some cases — daughters-in-law, as well as grandparents and great-aunts and uncles and visiting second-cousins, of whom there were many. Harry had grown up alongside the Weasley boys, Ron in particular for they were the same age. Together they had stolen Viscount Weasley's modified muggle motorcar (with the help of the twins Fred and George); fled from man-eating spiders in the woodlands bordering the Weasley's estate; and, when the time had come, fought side-by-side to take Voldemort down. It was natural that Ron should be Harry's best man, and to offer his family's help in any way leading up to the wedding. But as Harry stood on the front steps to welcome him, he forgot, temporarily, about his upcoming nuptials because he saw that with Ron were his nephew and niece: Dominique and Louis Weasley-Delacour.

Prior to the war, the Weasley family had suffered just one tragedy, and they rarely spoke the name of their lost daughter again. But, when Voldemort rose to power once again, the tragedies started rolling in. Fred, who shared a soul with his twin, George, was killed in the final battle. Industrious, brilliant Percival became estranged from his family, and was unable to reconcile with them until the war ended. William, a fearless and fierce fighter, was attacked by the werewolf Greyback, and for one endless, terrifying night, everyone feared that he might not make it. When his wife, Fleur, became pregnant for a second time at the height of the war, it was a small spark of hope. And when the child was born — and was revealed to be two children, twins — each member of the Weasley family privately vowed to protect the babies, no matter the cost. Now the twins were just on seven years old, and anyone speaking ill of their Veela heritage or their wolfish characteristics would find themselves with a lot of enemies in the vicinity of the Burrow. Dominique Apolline, the first surviving Weasley girl in almost a century, and her brother Louis Septimus were enchanting children who possessed their mother's lustrous silver hair, their father's extra-sharp canines, and the trademark Weasley freckles. Unlike their elder sister Victoire, who this year had begun her education at Hogwarts and considered herself entirely grown, the twins were delighted by the prospect of participating in a wedding, especially the wedding of their beloved Harry.

The twins ran to him, jumping out of their uncle's bewitched muggle car before he had even cut the engine.

"Harry! Pansy rang mummy. Last night." Louis said excitedly. "I'm going to be a page boy, did you hear? That means I'm looking after the rings. And Dom's a bridesmaid."

"Oh, we have the most wonderful outfits!" Dominique clasped her hands together under her chin, eyes shining. "Guess. I bet you can't."

But before Harry could hazard a guess, Dominique, overcome with excitement, told him: "I'm wearing a purple dress. _Lilac._ " She corrected herself. "With a lace trim and _silk stockings."_

"And _I'm_ wearing a suit. A real tux!" Louis added. "And we'll both have flowers in our hair — pansies and rosebuds."

"You'll both look beautiful." Harry said.

They beamed up at him. Looking at their faces, dimpled into matching smiles, swathed in silver halos of hair, Harry felt a surge of affection for his bride-to-be. She could have selected anyone she wanted for her third bridesmaid and the ring bearer.

"Can we go and tell Neville and Hannah?" Louis said.

"And Hagrid and Lavender and the others," added Dominique.

"Of course you can." Harry stepped aside to let them pass. "You can tell Ginny, too. She's our new maid and she has red hair like Ron." He said thoughtfully.

"Red hair like _everyone._ " Dominique said.

* * *

Louis and Dominique were sat at the kitchen table, one on either side of Luna, and after they had tasted her latest batch of dirigible plum jam, admired Padma and Parvati's matching beaded braids and been introduced to Ginny, they announced their prestigious roles in the upcoming nuptials.

"Bridesmaid and pageboy? For his lordship's wedding?" Seamus repeated, in awed tones. Louis nodded, biting back a smile.

"You must have special outfits for the occasion." Said Lavender, who had overheard Louis and Dom's conversation with Harry when they arrived.

"Wizards' robes with embroidered stars?" Colin offered.

The pair shook their heads, grinning to one another as the staff of Grimmauld Place suggested mediocre outfits and colour schemes.

"Matching purple evening-wear." Ginny guessed finally. The twins peered at her in astonishment, delighted that the new housemaid seemed to be on their wavelength.

"Almost!" Louis said. " _Lilac_ outfits. With lace trim."

Their audience _ooh_ -ed appreciatively.

"And," Dominique said, pausing for dramatic effect, "a wreath made from real live flowers."

Again this statement was met with suitable appreciation, and Louis, who inexplicably loved dirigible plums, helped himself to another spoonful of jam.

When it was time for the twins to leave, Dominique paused in the kitchen doorway, suddenly anxious.

"You'll all be there to see us, right? At the wedding?"

"We'll be there." Luna said. "Not even wrackspurts could keep us away."

* * *

With the twins holding court in the kitchen, Ron and Harry were free to discuss the finer details of the engagement.

"Mum, of course, wants to hold a ball at the Burrow in Pansy's honour. She thought if it were a few days before the wedding, the guests could easily stay for both. What do you think? Would Pansy like that?"

"I can't imagine a better wedding gift for us both." Harry said, pleased, for Molly Weasley's reputation as a hostess was unparalleled.

"She wanted to come down today to discuss it with Meda and Remus but she and Fleur have gone to see Victoire."

"How is she now? Less homesick?"

For all Victoire's show of maturity and independence, she had been struck badly by homesickness during her first term at Hogwarts.

"She's settled in at last, thank Merlin. Made a friend this term, too — Hufflepuff, unsurprisingly. She's invited him down to stay at the end of term, so they'll both be here for the wedding and the ball."

"I bet you're keen to hear all about their first-year antics," Harry said, smiling at his best friend.

"Less exciting than our own, I'm sure," Ron said with an answering grin. "Anyway, tell me exactly what you need me to do. Daphne Greengrass is head bridesmaid, I hear?"

They began to talk about logistics. But as Ron prepared to leave, his expression became serious.

"It goes without saying that I'm happy for you. We all want the best for you at the Burrow, you know that, right?"

"If I'm honest, Ron, I can't quite believe my luck," Harry said, looking down at his hands. "Just to know that thanks to Pansy, everyone here will be alright."

"Would you have sold, then, if not for her?"

"I'd've had to. Even though I promised Sirius I wouldn't, there didn't seem to be any other way."

"You wouldn't have cared much, for yourself, though."

"No." Harry said, thinking wistfully for a moment of all the careers he'd imagined for himself in his youth: seeker for the national quidditch team; Auror; thrill-seeker, chasing adventure and mythical creatures across the globe… "Not for Remus or Meda, either; they always said they were sick of this place. But when I thought I _would_ have to sell, I kept remembering all these silly details. Do you remember when Dobby first came to work here, and we came into the drawing room one afternoon and he and Kreacher were fighting over a pair of your mismatched socks?"

Ron laughed. "Kreacher! He wasn't so bad, in the end, was he?"

"And when we were, oh, ten or so, and Hannah dared us to jump from the rooftop, to see if we'd fly. Neville was the only one who did it, remember? He bounced all the way along the driveway into the rose-garden. I'm glad I don't have to sell, for those memories — for those people."

"I'll have to do everything in my power to make the wedding preparations go smoothly, then," said Ron, "to express my gratitude to Pansy properly." He got to his feet. "Right, let's go find Lou and Dom."

The twins were waiting on the front steps. Lou had a cardboard box on his lap and he and his sister were peering inside at something.

"It's a Snidget." Dom said. "Ginny found it trapped in the eaves, and she's given it to us to look after. She said if it nests in our garden we'll always have good luck. Ginny's lovely, isn't she?" She continued, her voice full of admiration. "And beautiful, too."

"Beautiful?" Harry repeated. The tone of his voice made Dominique frown, and even Ron glanced at him, eyebrows raised.

"Yes, beautiful." Louis said. "She told us she'd teach us quidditch next time we visit."

"She said it's never too early to start." Dom added.

"Who is this Ginny?" Ron asked.

"The new maid." replied Harry, rather curtly.

"She sounds entertaining."

"That is one word for her." Said Harry. "But I'm sure you'll see for yourself soon enough. It's impossible not to run into Ginny somewhere at Grimmauld Place."


End file.
